Reminiscence
by whirlwinds of watercolours
Summary: Lord Voldemort reminiscences about the past - about the first 'friend' he had.


**Title: Reminiscence**

**Summary: Lord Voldemort reminiscences about the past - about the first 'friend' he had.**

**Author: Memento Vivere**

**Rating: K plus for sort-of angst.**

**Word Count: 1258**

**Written for: the 'Stretch Your Limits' Competition, Round 1: Hard; School Subjects Competition: Charms; Character Diversity Boot Camp.**

**Thanks to _Emma Quinn!_**

* * *

Once in a while, Lord Voldemort would take a break from what he was doing – usually plotting how to kill Harry Potter or thinking up new and creative ways to punish the Malfoy boy for not killing Albus Dumbledore yet – to reminisce about the past.

It was a habit of his; to think about his past accomplishments and how his future ones could – _would _– be even greater. He would usually think about his days of glory at Hogwarts: how he managed to get rid of that annoying Myrtle who would not stop bothering him; his successful attempt at underage magic the time he killed his father and grandparents; how he managed to trick the gullible Horace Slughorn into telling him it was possible to create more than one Horcrux.

Occasionally, he would think about his rise to power; the number of Unforgivable Curses he cast; how he managed to rally so many faithful followers; but he would _not _think about the night Potter defeated him. He would not think about those fourteen years spent as a mere spirit; how the Potter boy managed to defeat him on _every_ single one of their encounters.

Today, he found himself thinking of a strange topic: the days spent in the orphanage.

He usually did not give the orphanage much thought, since it held no significance to him besides being the place he had grown up in for eleven years, and spent his summer holidays there for the next seven years. He had not accomplished anything of value there, besides scaring Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop and killing Billy Stubb's rabbit, but those things were not much to boast about; after all, scaring little children and killing animals were trivial, everyday things when compared to a mass genocide of Muggles and Mudbloods.

There was a small playroom in the orphanage, and that was where most children spent their days. Due to the limited amount of toys, they would argue over who would share a toy with whom. Naturally, Tom Marvolo Riddle would not be included in the 'they'; he could not be bothered about silly matters like toys.

No, he would be in the corner of the playroom, that small corner that dared to call itself a 'library'. The 'library' was comprised of only two shelves and a few books, but the important point was that one of the shelves hid him from view of the other playing children and that was all it mattered to little Tom.

He would always be found curled against the shelf, staring into space and wondering what his parents had been like and how he would deal with them for abandoning him in this good-for-nothing place. He did not bother to read any books on the shelves; he had read them before and his photographic memory ensured that the words were imprinted in his mind – plus, the plot was thin and meaningless, the vocabulary limited. Tom did not, and would not, ever believe in fairy tales.

No children had dared to approach that corner, for he frightened them with his antics and the space was barely enough for two people. That little corner had been labelled 'Tom Riddle's Library' in everyone's mind, and remained that way until a certain someone came along.

He remembered the day clearly, after all, how could he forget that fateful day when his territory had been snatched?

He had been plotting out on how he would give Mrs Cole the slip the next time they went to the beach on an outing. He had seen a queer cave not far from shore, and he wanted to do some exploring without Cole breathing down his neck.

He had been so engrossed in his planning that he did not notice a girl sitting next to him in the small space until she cleared her throat really loudly.

He had glanced up in annoyance, peeved at being disturbed. How dare one of those mindless midgets disturb _him_? He had noted that the girl had arrived in the orphanage yesterday or so, and probably did not know the rules of the place yet. A cruel smirk twisted his features; he would be glad to teach her a few things or so about this place.

"What are you doing here?" he had asked haughtily, not caring if he sounded like a spoilt brat or not. It was the only part of the orphanage that had belonged to him, after all. His room had been shared with a few other boys his age, so he could not consider that place _his _space.

The red-haired girl had already picked a book from the shelf and was already reading. At the sound of his harsh voice, she had looked up, her bright green eyes reflecting her surprise. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Nobody comes here," Tom had said matter-of-factly, as if that was common sense. "Except for me."

"Well, now I come here too," the girl had grinned cheekily, before resuming her reading.

"Why don't you play with the other children?" he had snapped, his voice not exactly rude, but yet not kind either.

"I don't like playing with toys. I like reading," she had replied, still smiling in that infuriating manner.

Tom had resisted the strong urge to wipe that irritating grin off her face and make her cry, but decided against it at the last moment. Cole would surely come bustling through the door and reprimand him, and he was not in the mood to listen to her winded speeches about how boys should treat girls.

Instead, he had merely pressed himself further into the bookshelf, sulking to himself and sending occasional glares – which, unfortunately for him and rather fortunately for her – she did not see.

Day after day the same thing happened. Tom would stay in the corner of the 'library', sending hateful scowls at her while she either did not or pretended not to notice by reading a book. He could not go anywhere else – Cole insisted on keeping them all in one room so that she could keep a better eye on them and he did not feel like mingling with the other children.

Soon, they fell into a regular routine. He would sit there pondering, while she read the same books from the miserable 'library' over and over again. Tom did not understand why she would bother – it was a waste of time.

He began to get used to her presence, although he certainly did not _enjoy _it – he liked being alone. But she did not usually make any attempt to speak to him or disturb him from his thoughts, and he appreciated that. At least the Muggle girl had _some _common sense, unlike most of the others he met at the orphanage.

He would not exactly classify her as a 'friend' – after all, they hardly spoke to each other since the first day. They were more like acquaintances. Yes, 'acquaintances' was the word to describe them. He had learnt it the other day.

Their routine was broken when she did not show up one day. It had felt odd without her company, but Tom did not mind the solitude. He rather enjoyed that day, having the corner all to himself.

She had remained missing from the 'library' for the following few days before Tom had learnt from the gossip and rumours of the orphanage that she had been adopted. It was no surprise to him, considering her well-behaved manner and her looks.

But her leaving did reinforce his belief that friendship was overrated.


End file.
